


Adorable is Not Welcome Here

by EachPeachPearPlum



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Avengers Family, Candyfloss fic, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Slash, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23130931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum/pseuds/EachPeachPearPlum
Summary: “But we don't have a butler,” Tony says, staring at the b- thethingin Thor’s arms, all pinkish and wriggly. “We need a butler.”It's a ridiculous thing to say, and, he realises as soon as the words come out, reveals things about his childhood that he prefers people not to know about. Fortunately, they’re all too occupied to do more than throw a confused glance at him, and Thor doesn't even do that much.“What we need isdiapers,” Natasha says, wrinkling her nose. “He definitely needs changing.”There's a sudden rush ofnot its, index fingers flying towards noses; Tony is very proud to be the first, even against Cap’spinnacle of human perfectionsuperspeed and Natasha’salmost-certainly-enhanced-even-if-she-won't-confirm-it-ness. Thor is last, largely because he has to juggle the noise-maker until it's cradled safely against one overly-large bicep (though, actually, Tony isn't sure if anyone’s explained this to him or if he's just mimicking yet anotherperplexing Midgardian customwithout knowing why he’s doing it, and shit like this is why they don't let him out in public without an escort).
Relationships: past-James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, pre-Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 156
Collections: Peach’s TSB 2020 works, Tony Stark Bingo 2020





	Adorable is Not Welcome Here

**Author's Note:**

> Much gratitude to nashapixie for giving this a pre-read and for helping with a title and tags.  
> Warning you all now: this is nothing but fluff and my occasionally peculiar sense of humour. If you're expecting drama, complicated plot, angst, smut, anything else, look away now. If, on the other hand, you want to giggle a little at the Avengers + baby, step right on in.  
> Love, Peach
> 
> This fills following prompt on my TSB card:
> 
> Title: Adorable is Not Welcome Here  
> Collaborator Name: eachpeachpearplum  
> Card Number: 3027  
> Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23130931  
> Square Filled: K3 - Fluff  
> Ship/Main Pairing: pre Steve/Tony  
> Rating: T  
> Major Tags: accidental baby acquisition, Avengers family, fluff  
> Summary: In which Thor speaks baby, Steve commits acts of diaper witchcraft, and butlers are sorely lacking,  
> Word Count: 6,696

“But we don't have a butler,” Tony says, staring at the b- the _thing_ in Thor’s arms, all pinkish and wriggly. “We need a butler.”

It's a ridiculous thing to say, and, he realises as soon as the words come out, reveals things about his childhood that he prefers people not to know about. Fortunately, they’re all too occupied to do more than throw a confused glance at him, and Thor doesn't even do that much.

“What we need is _diapers_ ,” Natasha says, wrinkling her nose. “He definitely needs changing.”

There's a sudden rush of _not it_ s, index fingers flying towards noses; Tony is very proud to be the first, even against Cap’s _pinnacle of human perfection_ superspeed and Natasha’s _almost-certainly-enhanced-even-if-she-won't-confirm-it_ -ness. Thor is last, largely because he has to juggle the noise-maker until it's cradled safely against one overly-large bicep (though, actually, Tony isn't sure if anyone’s explained this to him or if he's just mimicking yet another _perplexing Midgardian custom_ without knowing why he’s doing it, and shit like this is why they don't let him out in public without an escort).

“She,” the Asgardian corrects, and if there's anything more disconcerting than watching an honest-to-God cape-wearing, hammer-wielding, muscle-wrapped alien/deity cooing over a gurgling, squirming bundle of yellow blankets, Tony does not want to know what it is. “She wishes to be provided with fresh undergarments, and then to have the fiery one sing as she falls asleep.”

There's silence, a pretty damn confused one at that, and after a moment Thor looks up from pulling faces at his burden. “What is it?” he asks, incomprehensibly bewildered by their bewilderment.

Between Tony’s, “She?” and Clint’s, “The fiery one?” and Natasha’s very eloquent quirked eyebrow, not a whole lot is cleared up until Bruce says, “Thor, do you speak baby?”

“Of course,” Thor answers, like that isn't the weirdest thing since… well, since they rescued the thing from the den of mutant wolves living in Central Park half an hour ago. “I am fluent in all Midgardian tongues.”

“Are-way ot-nay,” Clint mutters, but Tony has something so much more important to address than his Pig Latin-ing.

“ _Baby_ isn't a language,” he says. “ _Baby_ is a series of nonsense sounds that a- that it makes before it learns a language. It's not talking to you.”

From the wounded look Thor gives him, Tony might as well have hit his junk with a heavy-duty repulsor blast. And, okay, maybe he was a little harsh, but his afternoon began with a giant wolf chewing through his suit and now involves an infant that really ought to be with child services rather than in a tower of alcoholics, aliens, assassins and rage monsters (and Steve, though he seems to have had the good sense to run away in the last few minutes), so all in all Tony thinks he should be cut a little slack.

“She communicates as clearly as you do,” Thor tells him, sounding perfectly calm and mild-mannered, even though Tony’s previously only seen that betrayed expression turned on Loki or the communal kitchen’s somewhat overzealous toaster. “But then it has long been known that Tony Stark has an inability to listen. It is hardly surprising you cannot understand her.”

“Wow. I am hurt, Thor. Deeply, deeply hurt. Haven't I welcomed you like a br- well, not like your brother, no one sane would welcome him anywhere, but-”

“In Tony’s defence,” Bruce says, “We’ve never met anyone who can understand baby-talk.”

“-I have welcomed _you_ , Thor, into my home. I have fed you and clothed you, the very roof over your head has my name on it, and yet you wound me this way, like a knife-”

“Really? This is not a skill taught amongst your menfolk?”

“-Through the heart, Thor, you have driven a knife through my heart-”

“It is not,” says Bruce. “Is it just your men?”

“-And, anyway, I'm pretty sure absolutely none of you are listening to me, your hypocrisy is yet another cut-”

“All among my people may learn it,” Thor explains. “However, Lady Jane told me it is customary for men on this planet to be the primary caregivers for the first nine months of a child’s life, to make amends for the months of suffering they have wrought upon their partners.”

Tony proves just how capable of listening (and, for that matter, listening whilst also talking) he is by shutting up, startled into silence by this very surprising statement from Thor.

“Jane told you that?” Clint asks, smirking. “Man, she is- _ow_!”

“A very lucky woman,” Natasha says, smiling a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile that chills Tony to the core, waiting until Thor is absorbed by baby babble to hiss, “Don’t ruin this for her,” very much _sotto voce_.

The atmosphere of sheer terror is interrupted by Steve’s reappearance. He looks ridiculously cheerful, and is carrying what seems to be one of the drawers from his dresser, piled high with towels, pillows and blankets.

“Here,” he says, putting the drawer on the coffee table and unpacking its contents. One of the blankets ends up folded neatly in half on the tabletop, and then Steve crosses to Thor, reaching for the baby with an eagerness that suggests his sense of smell is seriously out of order; Thor’s nose must also be completely out of whack, because he doesn’t immediately leap on the opportunity to pass it off to someone else, and the brevity of their standoff does nothing to reduce its intensity. “I can change her,” Steve says, full of _let’s win this impossible fight_ stubbornness.

“You have done so previously?” Thor demands, no less implacable.

“Bucky had kid sisters,” Steve answers, saying the name with the same forced lightness he always does, not that Tony’s heard him mention Bucky Barnes more than a very small handful of times. “I’d help out, whenever I wasn’t down with something contagious.”

Thor looks down at the baby, smiling and nodding as it gurgles at him. One enormous thumb sweeps over its (admittedly very fluffy looking) hair, and then he beams at Steve. “She is willing to go with you,” he says. “On a trial basis, at least. I'm sure you understand, Captain.”

Based on his expression, Steve doesn't understand at all. In the spirit of altruism (and, it has to be said, a desperate wish to have the awful smell go away), Tony takes pity on him. “Thor’s just been telling us how he can speak baby,” he explains, even if he’s still got his doubts.

Steve accepts this a great deal more easily than Tony did, but then he stopped looking surprised at things not being what he’s used to somewhere between _alien invasion_ and _gay marriage_ (“Oh,” was all he'd said, but his smile had definitely been genuine, if a little… wistful, maybe, not that Tony knows why). “Useful,” he says, holding out his arms for the baby again.

This time, Thor hands it over, and Tony has to witness a second friend and respected colleague cooing disconcertingly over the thing.

“Hello, precious,” Steve murmurs, carrying it over to the coffee table. Tony looks away, not that he’s the only one, and so he misses the series of events that take them from stinky baby to fresh-as-a-daisy baby. Steve is clearly some kind of wizard, though, because Tony’s pretty sure there isn’t anything even close to baby supplies in the building, so how the hell he’s managed to find a clean diaper for-

“Is that one of my towels?” Tony asks. It’s completely rhetorical, since he’s currently staring at a pair of pudgy pink legs poking out the bottom of what is definitely a very fluffy, very expensive towel filched from one of the tower’s many linen cupboards. 

“I thought you said everything on my floor belonged to me,” Steve replies, like he hadn’t spent weeks protesting that he didn’t need everything Pepper had had the interior designer buy for him, that Tony was spending stupid amounts of money on things he was never going to use. “Does anyone have a safety pin?” he adds before Tony can comment on his abrupt about-face.

“Why would any of us have safety pins?” Tony asks, only to be very alarmed when Bruce produces a couple of regular sized pins and Natasha presents him with a handful of three inch long murder weapon pins.

Steve opts for one of the vicious murder pins, then proceeds to complete his act of baby changing witchcraft by very carefully pinning the towel up. “Thanks,” he says to them, then scoops up the baby like a professional. “Isn’t that better, little one?” he sing-songs, rocking the baby in the cradle of his arms. “All nice and clean, aren’t you, and now you can get some sleep, okay, petal? Lots of nice, quiet sleep, and then when you wake up again we’ll have some yummy food and some pretty new clothes for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“He does know we can hear him, right?” Clint mutters.

“It's always fifty-fifty with you,” Natasha answers, digging an elbow into his ribs. “I mean, the number of times you take your hearing aids out and immediately forget where you left them…”

“Okay, so,” Tony says to Bruce, since there's no way he's getting caught up in one of their squabbles and he's a little bit concerned any comment he makes on Steve’s conversation with the baby won't sound as scathing as he wants it to. “I get why Natasha has pockets full of pointy things, but what's your excuse?”

Bruce shrugs. “Can you imagine how it feels to wake up in a field with your clothes in shreds and absolutely no idea how you got there or why?”

“Don't need to imagine it,” Tony answers, chucking in an eyebrow waggle for good measure. “God, that was a good weekend…”

The look he gets in response to this is really way too full of judgement, but since this is Bruce rather than, just for example, Pepper, it doesn't actually get said aloud.

“Of course,” Bruce says instead, “But for those of us born _with_ the shame gene-”

“Yawn. Also, not a real thing.”

“-It’s not such a good feeling. Besides, if you don't have a driver just sat around waiting to be useful, it's a lot easier to hitch a lift when you don't need both hands to keep your pants up.”

“Safety pins,” Clint agrees, having apparently given up on his argument with Natasha. “Not just useful for stabbing people, you know.”

Natasha smirks, using one of the murder pins to clean under her fingernails, and when she opens her mouth Tony decides he really, really doesn't want to know what she's planning on saying.

“So, Thor,” he starts, leaping on the first distraction he can think of, never mind how completely unscientific and utterly insane it is. “Did Cap pass the diaper test?”

The room falls silent so that Thor can give the baby his full attention, even though the only noise coming from her is a wet sucking as she attempts to find out how many tiny fingers she can wedge in her equally tiny mouth. Steve, bless him, looks ever so apprehensive, eyes flicking from Thor to the baby and back again, and Tony tries to decide if reassuring him that Thor’s claimed language skills are probably bullshit is worth finding Mjolnir sat in front of the coffee machine next time he goes to use it.

Fortunately, Thor breaks out the smiles before Tony has to risk it. “You have served admirably, Captain!” he announces, and there's no way such a small thing should have Steve looking as proud now as he does when they've just saved the world again. “Indeed, she will gladly grant you this honour again, on the condition that you surrender her now to Natasha, that she might serenade our young charge to sleep.”

It’s not exactly unusual for Thor to say something outlandish enough to render them all speechless, but the frequency with which he’s managed it this evening is a somewhat greater than normal.

Probably due to the serum, Steve recovers quickest from this latest shock (and no, Tony doesn’t still stand by his _everything special_ comment, but he does think it plays a part here. That, or he’s got so used to the future being full of things he doesn’t understand that Thor’s weirdness is water off a duck’s back to him, but either way Tony thinks he’s got an unfair advantage here). Capsicle still looks a little bemused as he carries the baby over to Natasha, but he does it anyway, standing there and waiting for her to take it from him.

“No,” Natasha says firmly. “I don’t sing, and I definitely don’t hold babies.”

Tony doesn’t often describe things as adorable, largely because just thinking the word makes him feel slightly queasy, but… Steve’s just standing there, looking like the poster-boy for SingleDads’R’Us, his recently acquired bundle of joy in his nicely formed arms, big baby blues begging and desperate.

Yeah, it's freaking adorable, and Tony is not having it. Adorable is not allowed in his tower. Final word, his foot is well and truly down.

“You would refuse solace to one so small?” Thor asks, eyes pleading just as hard as Steve’s, his voice less boom-y than usual. “She is alone, in need of comfort, and has asked it of you, Natasha. Do you truly mean to deprive her of it?”

“I don’t hold babies,” Natasha repeats.

If possible, the expressions get even worse, and Tony honestly doesn’t know how she’s just standing there. Sure, she’s the scariest person Tony’s ever met and he’s only half sure she’s capable of actual human emotions, but the combined force of Thor and Steve’s _why won’t you love us?_ faces have Tony wondering if maybe singing to the baby himself wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing in the world.

(Just, you know, close to it: Tony doesn’t know a single baby-appropriate song)

(He’s still thinking about it, though)

“Anchorage,” Clint says, completely out of the blue. Tony looks at him to see if there’s something in his expression that makes this makes sense, but all it really tells him is that Clint is probably talking to Natasha (that’s where he’s looking, at any rate) and that he seems to be deeply conflicted about having said it.

“Really?” says Natasha, shifting her unfeeling stare from Thor, Steve and the baby to Clint. “It's been four years. Are you sure this is the time?”

“Not really,” Clint answers, shrugging. “But look at them, Tash. I don’t exactly have a choice.”

Their very own snow queen actually has an honest facial expression for a moment. Yes, it's a scowl, and it vanishes almost as soon as it arrives, but it's still enough for Tony to put another mental tally mark in the _probably not a robot_ category (third one this month, even, and they're only just past halfway. If she carries on at this rate, she might hit a new personal best).

“Monaco,” she says. It's only the fact that a) he knows she'll hurt him and b) he's not actually sure he wants the answer that keeps Tony from asking if they're exchanging safe words right now, because he doesn't have any other idea what might be going on.

“Instead?”

“As well.”

“As well?!”

Natasha smiles. “Just look at them, Clint,” she says. “You don't exactly have a choice.”

Clint makes the mistake of obeying her, as does Tony, which is how he knows it's a mistake. Thor is the picture of brokenheartedness, his eyes welling up, and Steve… Tony yanks his gaze away before he finds himself offering to adopt the goddamn baby in order to cheer up a national icon.

“Deal,” Clint says, frowning like he can’t decide if he’s won this one or lost it very, very badly.

Smiling, Natasha takes a step forward, swooping up the baby with the same confident grace she does everything else. That in itself wouldn’t be particularly telling – Avenging means frequently confronting new and unique situations with little to no warning – but the way Natasha holds the baby, the way she cradles its head and doesn’t flinch when the baby removes its sticky fist from its mouth and immediately tangles it in her hair suggests otherwise.

Natasha, Tony thinks, has definitely held a baby before.

“I still don’t sing,” she says, promptly turning her back on Thor’s disappointment.

She moves towards the windows, firmly ignoring everyone in the room, and Tony figures they have bigger problems to address than her unwillingness to entertain the baby.

“JARVIS,” he says, “How’s Pepper doing with finding someone to take the kid off our hands?”

“Ms Potts is on her way up, Sir,” JARVIS answers. “I believe she wishes to discuss matters with you in person.”

Tony's pretty sure that means nothing good.

Unfortunately, the elevator arrives while he’s still trying to think of an excuse to get out of there and leave the whole baby situation to people far more qualified to handle it than he is (and given that those people are an alien deity, two world class assassins, a walking historical relic and a world-renowned scientific genius, that's really saying a lot about Tony’s inability to deal with children).

He braces himself for the sharp tap off Pepper’s heels making their way over to him, but there's nothing; Tony doesn't turn around, doesn't want to know, because if Pepper isn't immediately approaching him to _discuss matters_ , he's definitely not going to like what's going on.

“Ms P- Pepper,” Steve says, correcting himself before Pepper has the chance to do so (apparently, twenty-third time’s the charm, in his case). “Can I help you with that?”

“Thank you, Steve,” Pepper answers; Tony is very definitely still not looking.

Except he doesn't have to, because Pepper’s heels are _tap-tap-tap_ ping their way towards him and Steve is-

Steve is carrying a crib into Tony’s line of sight.

This is so not the plan.

“I thought you were calling child services,” Tony says, not even trying to keep the betrayal out of his voice.

“I did,” Pepper answers, sparing him half a glance before joining Steve in removing an enormous amount of baby accoutrements from inside the crib: blankets, onesies, bottles, three different coloured things of formula, approximately six-thousand diapers (he's estimating, but that's definitely what it looks like), plus a variety of things Tony does not and does not _want_ to recognise.

“I thought you were calling them to _take her away_ ,” he elaborates, because apparently Pepper has missed that very, very important distinction. “Not bring us all this.”

Pepper turns from the baby supplies to give him her most exasperated expression. “I do know that, Tony,” she says. “There’s no reports of a missing baby anywhere in the city, so they can't track down her parents, and apparently they've got a shortage of suitable foster parents at the moment. There was a suggestion of putting her in a group home, until they realised I was _that_ Virginia Potts, at which point they thought leaving her here was a better solution.”

“What?” Tony demands. “Why? Is this another one of those _Tony's such a child_ things, because I can tell you now, looking after me is _not_ the same as looking after a baby.”

Pepper gives him the look again. “Believe me, Tony, I'm well aware of that fact,” she says; the words might sound like she's agreeing, but her face and tone make it perfectly clear which of them she thinks is likely to be more trouble. “That said, it's not me they consider a fit guardian.”

It takes a moment for Tony to work out what she means, if only because the suggestion is the most absurd thing he’s heard this year.

“You’re kidding, right?” Clint says, clearly just as dumbfounded.

“If only,” Pepper answers. “Apparently, saving the world a few times qualifies you all to look after a baby until they can find a better alternative.”

“So for all of thirty seconds, then,” says Tony. “Seriously, Pep. Go outside, throw a stone, chances are you’ll hit at least five people who’d make better guardians than any of us.”

Pepper doesn't actively agree with him, but she also doesn't argue, which as far as Tony is concerned is proof that she knows he's right but doesn't want to admit it. “I'm sure that between all of you, you can look after a baby for a day or two.”

“Because we all have such good parenting examples to follow, obviously,” Clint points out in a tone positively dripping with sarcasm.

Steve makes a soft, wordless sound, presumably in protest, but he’s the only one to do so; Clint nods, wafts a hand in Steve's general direction, and amends, “Except for Steve, and even you didn't have a dad in the picture, right?”

“In his defence, he died before I was born,” Steve points out. “But I see your point. We don't have an abundance of parental role models.”

That, Tony thinks, is exactly what he wanted to hear, because when Steve says no, Steve _means_ no, and if he decides they're not keeping the baby then it's as good as gone, rehomed with a lovely, childless couple with a big house and even bigger hearts who will love and care for her for all her days.

Except Steve looks over at Natasha and the baby, his expression going all soft and maybe a little yearning, shitshit _shit_ , Steve is supposed to be the sensibleone (when he's not in a plane, at any rate).

“No,” Tony says. “Steve, no, you’re supposed to be the sensible one.”

“She’s so tiny, though,” Steve answers, not even looking at Tony as he does so. “And it’s only for a couple of days. How much trouble could she be?”

“Oh dear God _why_?!” Tony exclaims, flinging his hands in the air, and he's being dramatic, he gets that, but there's a baby in his decidedly non-baby-welcoming home and Steve has just jinxed the hell out of them and _none of this is okay_! “What the hell are you thinking, saying shit like that?”

Whatever Steve’s reply to that is going to be (judging by his expression, it's likely to be confused, maybe with a side of defensive anger), they don't get to hear it, because Natasha is-

Tony doesn't want to call it singing, because Natasha was very adamant that she doesn't sing and he isn’t brave enough to disagree with her, but it’s about as close to it as it’s possible to be. There's no lyrics, but it's definitely not just humming, and she can more than carry a tune, her voice low and lilting; Tony’s so sure it must be some kind of Russian lullaby he's never heard before (but would no doubt find utterly traumatising if he had) that it takes him a good few seconds to realise he recognises it, even if he can't quite work out where he knows it from.

“Really, Nat?” Clint asks, apparently getting there before Tony. “Snow White?”

Natasha’s expression is even more of a mask than normal, as is her voice when she answers him. “They used it to teach us your accent,” she says lightly.

Tony isn't sure what's more terrifying, the _us_ or the _they_ or the fact that the _us_ were presumably young enough that the _they_ thought Disney films were the way to go, but either way he thinks he would prefer her to have been not-singing a traumatising Russian lullaby instead.

“Our young charge approves,” Thor announces, effectively breaking the appalled silence the rest of them have fallen into. “And, if I may say so, you have a beautiful voice, Natasha.”

Natasha smiles, soft and… and _genuine_ , Tony thinks. He’s not absolutely sure – hell, a decent size part of his brain doesn’t quite believe Natasha _has_ genuine facial expressions – but it’s definitely not a smile he’s seen before, and there’s a distinct lack of her usual sharp, sarcastic edges. “Thank you, Thor,” she says, also lacking sharpness.

Tony looks at each of his team in turn – at Natasha’s gentleness and Thor’s enthusiasm, Clint and Bruce’s resigned expressions, and Steve’s overall goddamn _Steve_ ness – and no, Tony is clearly not going to win this.

“Fine,” he says, crossing his arms. “Clearly, I’m being overruled here. She can stay, but I want it on the record that I think this is a really bad idea.”

Pepper sighs, long and exasperated and oh, is Tony familiar with that sigh. “Believe me, Tony, everyone in a five block radius knows you think this is a bad idea. Where are we putting the crib?”

X

Because Steve and Thor are both freaking lunatics, the discussion about where the baby is going to sleep involves a fierce game of childcare one-upmanship that almost results in physical violence. By the time Natasha plants herself between the pair of them, Thor is whisper-bellowing about his ability to communicate with the infant and how that makes him obviously a superior guardian, Steve is finally expressing a sensible level of scepticism about this claim, and both of them look like they’d have already resorted to punching if it weren’t for the sleeping infant in their midst.

“Or,” Natasha says icily. “The baby can sleep down here, and you can take turns watching her.”

“Fine, but I’m taking first watch,” Thor demands, making Steve bristle, at which point Tony decides enough is enough.

X

Hours later, when he’s repaired the tooth-shaped dents in the armour, fabricated the material to replace the claw-ripped panels in Steve and Natasha’s suits, and set the bots on creating a whole load of replacement net arrows for Clint, Tony decides he’s probably done enough for the day.

“Anyone still up, J?” he asks, since every single one of his teammates can be just as bad at sleeping as he is, and then remembers the current situation, which brings to mind a far more pressing question. “Also, who won the baby war and do I need to start planning a funeral for the loser?”

“You will no doubt be pleased to learn that the matter was settled without physical injury,” JARVIS answers. “Prince Thor took first watch, and Captain Rogers took over a little under an hour ago. The baby is currently sleeping, however the Captain is awake. Would you like me to inquire as to whether he wants company?”

Tony shakes his head, heading to the elevator. “Nah, better not. Steve’ll only blame me if you wake the creature up, so I might as well be there in person. I’ll swing by, see if he wants a drink. Keep things ticking over here until I’m back, okay?”

“Don’t I always, Sir?” JARVIS snarks, as the elevator shifts smoothly into motion.

The sight that greets him on the communal floor is every bit as concerning as Tony would have expected, had he actually considered it. The baby is in the crib, not Steve’s arms, but from the way Steve is standing next to the crib just gazing down at her, he might as well be holding her.

Shit like this is why Tony should have fought harder against letting the baby stay here, because the fact that the Avengers are spectacularly unprepared to care for an infant in no way prevents anyone from getting attached to it.

“Steve,” he calls, only just loud enough to get his attention. “You want a drink?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just heads over to the bar to get himself a very large whiskey (after the green Central Park wolves and the minuscule invader in his tower, Tony’s pretty sure he deserves it) and Steve a bottle of beer from the fridge.

Steve still hasn’t said anything about the drink, but he doesn't refuse when Tony presses the bottle into his hand.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, making no effort at all to open it, or to move away from the crib.

Tony isn’t entirely sure how he ends up standing there next to him, staring down at the sleeping baby, but not knowing how or why he’s there doesn’t change the fact that he is.

As babies go, she’s not the ugliest one ever. She’s a healthy brown, none of those weird rashes Tony’s seen on kids sometimes, and the fuzz of dark hair that covers her scalp looks like it would be soft to touch. She’s making quiet little sleep-sounds, one tiny hand clutching a pastel blue rabbit, and maybe, _maybe_ , Tony can see a fraction of whatever it is that has Steve and Thor acting like idiots.

She’s asleep, though. Kids are always way cuter when they’re sleeping.

“You want kids of your own?” Tony asks, taking a hefty glug of whiskey, unsure where the question came from. Or, no, there’s a whisper in the back of his mind, something to do with compatibility and similar goals in life, but that’s ridiculous, pointless, not something he should even be thinking about. He shouldn’t even think about thinking about it, that’s how much of a non-thing it should be.

Steve shrugs. “I used to,” he says, and Tony’s never heard anyone (including himself) try so hard to sound casual about something. “If Peg had wanted them, I mean. It wasn’t something we talked about, what with the war and everything… It was bad enough knowing we might not both make it home. I think we both knew how much worse it’d be if we’d planned a future together.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say to that, because he’s known grief, he has – Jarvis and Ana, his parents, Uncle Danny, even fucking Obie, or at least the man he’d thought Obie was. Tony has grieved for all of them, but it’s nothing like losing almost everyone he’s ever known, waking up in another century and knowing that the few people who weren’t dead were almost seven decades older than the last time he saw them. It’s not even close to comparable, and Tony can’t tell him that he grew up calling her Aunt Peggy, that he probably loved her and Uncle Danny and Jarvis and Ana more than he loved his own parents. That Peggy’s kids might as well have been his cousins, older and overprotective. That Mikey Sousa was always his favourite babysitter and Sarah spent their vacations teaching him how to fight off bullies.

That Peggy Carter had the family Steve wanted, and she had it with someone else.

“And now?” he asks. “There’s any number of women out there who’d kill to be Captain America’s baby-mama.”

“They sound exactly like the kind of stable, rational individuals I’d want to raise a child with,” Steve answers drily, finally picking up the beer Tony got out the fridge for him an age ago. He pops the top off like it’s nothing (they all stopped offering him a bottle opener ages ago, and Tony’s pretty sure he’s not the only one who enjoys watching the flex of muscles whenever they pass him or Thor bottles and jars the team’s mere mortals can’t get into) and takes a drink that gets pretty close to draining the whole thing in one. “My whole life, Peggy Carter’s the only woman I’ve ever been in love with. I can’t see that changing anytime soon, so… Children are just another thing that belong back in ’45.”

“You know it doesn't have to work like that nowadays, right?” Tony says, putting just as much effort into being gentle as Steve did into being casual a few moments ago. It's still pretty new to him, that he's trying to mind the feelings of three people rather than two, but then he’s never met anyone quite as lost as Steve sometimes looks: Tony would have to be worse than the utterly heartless bastard he was before the armour to not at least try soften his more abrasive edges. “Even assuming you never fall in love again, the traditional way isn’t the only one. Surrogacy, if it matters that the kid be biologically yours, adoption if it doesn’t.”

“Family isn’t just blood,” Steve says. “God knows, I’d’ve loved any kids Bucky had like they were my own.” He smiles, shakily, and downs what little remained of his beer. “Still, it’s not… I don’t think I could do it, without…”

He falters, doesn’t seem inclined to finish that, and Tony’s finally starting to learn when not to push. “Not like you have to,” he says. “I’m just saying, if you want a family, the twenty-first century has a load more options than the twentieth.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Steve answers, his laugh just as shaky as the smile was, but he’s clearly aiming for what Tony privately refers to as his _gee, ain’t the future swell_ tone.

Tony’s not going to be the one to tell him he’s missed it by a good mile or so, instead just standing up and taking his glass over to the bar. “Another?” he offers, topping up (refilling, maybe, but there’s no point quibbling over details) his own drink.

Steve glances at the crib, like Tony doesn’t know at least half his attention has been focused on the baby the whole time they’ve been sat here. The baby is still asleep, making these little snuffling noises that Tony refuses to find adorable (that he's used that word once today is bad enough), but Steve still looks kind of dubious.

“Come on, Cap. It's not like it's going to do anything to you.”

He's not expecting Steve to do anything other than refuse, given how he's all Captain Responsible at the best of times (which impromptu babysitting really isn't). But it's polite to offer, and while Tony usually can't be bothered with politeness he’s willing to attempt it for anyone who saves him from changing stinky diapers.

“I'm good, thanks,” Steve answers, smiling. “Given your reaction to this one, I’m guessing you’re not rushing towards fatherhood.”

“God, no,” Tony says immediately. He drinks too much, doesn’t sleep or eat enough, has too many sharp edges and insufficient patience, focuses too much or not enough, and maybe shitty parenting isn’t genetic but Tony has no intention of taking that risk. “Some people aren’t meant to be parents, you know?”

“For what it’s worth, I think you give yourself too little credit,” Steve tells him, painfully earnest, and maybe if the topic under discussion wasn’t his ability to adult responsibly, Tony might consider believing him.

He doesn’t, obviously, but it’s sort of nice to know that Steve believes in him, and Tony isn’t going to argue the point with him.

“Well, hopefully this little girl’s got a family out there somewhere and we won’t have to find out,” he hedges, nodding in the direction of the crib. He settles back on the couch again, catching sight of Steve’s plaintive expression from the corner of his eye, and oh, crap, that is really not good.

“Steve,” he says softly, because he needs to shut this down ASAP. “I know you and Thor like having her here, but you can’t get attached, okay? Someone will be looking for her, and even if they aren’t, she can’t stay with us long term. We’re already on call 24/7 for Avenging, we can’t do that for a baby, too.”

“I know that, Tony,” Steve snaps, then immediately looks to the crib to check he’s not woken the baby. “Sorry, I just…”

“I know, Steve,” Tony murmurs, patting the cushion next to him with a lack of coordination that speaks to both his alcohol levels and his exhaustion. “I know.”

Steve crosses to the couch, smiling sort of sadly, his gaze still glued to the crib. “Get some sleep, Tony,” he says. “I promise not to form an unbreakable bond with the baby while you’re out.”

Tony yawns, puts his empty glass down on the floor by his feet, and closes his eyes. 

X

Tony wakes up, feeling warm and sort of fuzzy: it takes him embarrassingly many seconds to go from _this isn’t my workshop_ to _it’s also not my bedroom_ , and then even more to reach _oh, right, the team floor_. It’s a little bit disconcerting, really, when he’s spent months trying to adjust to the painful suddenness of his post-wormhole wake ups, but mostly it’s just nice not to rejoin consciousness feeling like he’s still up there, the suit unable to provide enough oxygen for the endless vacuum of space.

There’s a blanket covering him, tucked carefully around his toes and then pulled up only as far as his ribs, his arms carefully left free. The lights are out, and when Tony tilts his head he can see Steve standing by the wall of windows, little more than a silhouette backlit by the constant glow of the city. He’s doing this little side-to-side swaying thing, the baby in his arms fussing slightly, and-

“ _Some day, my prince will come_ ,” Steve’s singing quietly, his voice a little unsteady and at least an octave lower than Snow White’s ever was, but there’s something soft and just so- so _earnest_ in it. And, sure, Steve is always earnest, but this is just… Tony’s sleep-muzzed brain doesn’t know what it is, only how lucky he is to hear it at all. “ _Some day, we’ll meet again_.”

 _Oh_ , Tony thinks, and lets it lull him back to sleep again.

X

In the morning, there's a tiny, green, mutant wolf-cub sitting in the crib.

Tony is immediately convinced that one of the things they chased out of Central Park yesterday has somehow broken into the Tower, made it all the way to the top floor and chowed down on their temporary bundle of joy, and it's terrifying. He knew he wasn't fit to care for an infant, especially not one that tiny and defenceless and now he's let it get eaten and she wasn't actually that bad, she slept well and didn't cry too much and even the awful smells weren't _that_ awful, and if he's completely honest the tiny little onesie patterned with Steve’s shield and Iron Man’s mask was probably the cutest item of clothing he'd ever seen, at least until it got shredded by-

Actually, Tony isn't sure what shredded it, because the scraps of cloth look as clean as they did when Steve dressed her (hell, they hadn't even managed to agree on a temporary name for her before they let her get eaten, and Tony is the worst guardian ever). There's no sign of blood or bone or remnants of messy canine eating, just tatters of fabric.

In fact, it's more the sort of torn up that Bruce’s clothes get when he Hulks out unexpectedly, like something's burst out of it rather than ripped into it, and-

Oh.

(Tony’s not had coffee yet, okay. He's allowed to be a little slow on the uptake.)

“ _Steve_ ,” he hisses, gently kicking the still snoozing supersoldier at the other end of the couch, because this is definitely the kind of thing he needs back up for. “Wake up! We have a situation.”

Thankfully, Steve lurches into wakefulness immediately, is halfway through reaching for his shield and asking, “What situation?” before he follows Tony’s gaze to the crib and freezes.

“Oh,” he says, after a moment of slightly stunned silence, and then, “Do you think she’ll still drink formula, or should we be offering her raw meat?”

Tony turns to him, incredulous; on the long, _long_ list of questions he has regarding the tiny, green, mutant, _shapeshifting baby_ wolf-cub, what she might want to eat hadn't actually made an appearance.

“We could offer her both and see what she picks, I suppose,” Steve continues, apparently deciding not to wait for Tony’s input (which is good, because he'd have been waiting an awfully long time). He stands watching the cub a moment longer, then looks at Tony.

“I guess it's a good thing child services couldn't place her last night,” he says, followed by, “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees faintly. “Sounds good.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who may be concerned by that last section, don't be. The team call SHIELD, they reunite the baby/cub with her family, who now live in a nice SHIELD sanctuary (rather than Central Park, which they agree is not an appropriate location to raise a baby/cub).
> 
> If anyone fancies a chat, you can find me on tumblr at [dreaminglypeach](https://dreaminglypeach.tumblr.com/).


End file.
